The Cure
by K Hanna Korossy
Summary: Soul Survivor missing scene and tag: The ritual makes Dean human again, but that's not what makes him feel human.


**The Cure**  
 **K Hanna Korossy**

Dean was human again.

Sam couldn't even process the relief, just acted. "Let's get you out of this," he said, and strode forward into the devil's trap, to the brother who no longer needed it.

Castiel joined him, and Dean didn't say a word as they undid the bindings that held him. He was still blinking hard, occasionally shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. _You look worried, fellas._ The words couldn't have been less Dean-like, and it was obvious he was still pretty out of it, cure or no.

The last chain falling away, Sam looped an arm under one of Dean's, while Cas did the same on the other side. Dean just muttered what sounded like a drunken "whoa!" as they lifted him up, and Sam met their friend's eyes over the sweaty head.

"Bedroom."

Cas nodded.

The clinic would have made more sense. Dean had been able to heal himself as a demon, but there was no telling what damage the cure, yanking against bindings, his friggin' _violent death_ had left behind. But Sam couldn't bring himself to inflict anything else on his brother.

They stumbled out of the file room, heading for the hallway off the library that held the bedrooms. Dean's shuffle slowly turned into actual if wobbly steps, shedding his weakness as fast as he was able. Castiel eventually loosened his grip, then hung back, letting Sam walk the last hallway alone with his brother.

"How're you doing?" Sam finally murmured as they approached the room.

Dean gave him a bewildered look. Sam knew the feeling; his own thoughts felt like a tangle of rope.

"Hurt? Hungry?" he finally prompted.

There was a beat. "Hungry." Dean's voice was still shot; all that demonic growling must've taken it out of him.

"I bet." Sam nudged the half-shut door open with his slinged arm. "Anything else?"

Dean huffed. "Uh. Wouldn' say no to a handfulla painkillers."

Okay, that sounded a little more like his brother. The strain inside Sam loosened a tiny bit, and he smiled tightly. "That I can do." At the edge of the bed, he eased Dean down, who put out an arm for balance. Then yanked it back when it jarred against the mattress: right, it was the arm Sam had poked full of holes. That still had to hurt.

He stepped back, watching Dean's gaze sweep over the room. Home. There was no relief there, though, nothing but a blankness that Sam hoped was still just disorientation. Then the roaming look snagged on something.

Oh. The half-eaten pie.

He quickly dove forward to sweep up the discarded food. "That's from last week. I, uh…" _Just missed you so freakin' bad, I had to pretend you were still here_ sounded completely pathetic. "…was looking for something and set it down and forgot about it…" And now he was babbling; _so_ much better.

Dean eyed him. "Huh." His brother would've seen through him in a second flat, but Sam couldn't read this version of Dean to know how with it he even was.

Dean was rubbing his punctured arm, and Sam shook himself out of his self-centeredness. This wasn't about him. "I'll get you some stuff for that. And then some food."

Dean didn't say anything as Sam ducked out the door.

He only had to go as far as the bathroom; while the clinic had the heavy-duty stuff, they had basic first aid supplies stashed throughout the bunker. Sam would've bet there was a kit somewhere in Dean's room, too, but he didn't know where and it wasn't the time to look. Box in hand, he rushed back to Dean's room, to find his brother exactly how he'd left him.

Crap, he'd forgotten the water. He darted back out, this time jogging to the kitchen, past a startled Cas.

Dean had already shaken out pills and dry-swallowed them by the time Sam got back with a bottle. He drained it nonetheless while Sam examined his arm. There was little danger of infection even if he hadn't exactly performed the most sterile injections, but Sam slathered the tiny scabs with numbing antibiotic cream. He considered, then discarded the idea of bandaging the arm. God knew they'd had far worse with far less treatment.

Dean had watched the whole procedure dispassionately. Sam had half-expected him to shrug off Sam's nursemaiding, but he hadn't, just moved pliantly as Sam directed him. His eyes seemed sharper, his movements less sluggish, but a silent Dean wasn't a normal Dean.

Sam rocked back on his heels and eyed him uneasily. "Okay?"

Dean pulled his hand into a fist and nodded distractedly. "Yeah."

"All right. Good." Sam pushed to his feet, suddenly feeling the long last few days. "I'll, uh, go make a food run, then. Any requests?"

Dean shook his head. No smart remark about no rabbit food, or about not forgetting the pie. Docile: Sam flinched at the thought. That was almost as wrong as hate-filled demon-Dean had been.

"Okay. Okay." He rubbed his free hand against his jeans. "Uh, if you wanna take a nap while I'm gone, I'll wake you up when food's here, okay?"

Dean gave the room an aimless look again, just skimming Sam's chin. "Yeah, okay."

"Okay." He was saying that a lot, and it wasn't even really okay. Sam finally nodded and made himself turn away.

Dean was still just getting his bearings. He'd said the injections were boiling his blood, and the switch from demonic thinking to human had to be a serious case of mental whiplash. He was fixed; he just needed time.

Sam grabbed the keys from his room, closing his eyes a moment as he felt the amulet Dean had threaded on his keychain bite into his palm.

God, he hoped they both just needed some time.

00000

Sam hurried out of the room like he couldn't wait to get away. Dean got it. If he could've run away from himself, he would've been halfway to Boise by now.

Not that he felt truly back in his own skin. There were…memories, of the last few weeks, scenes he saw through his own eyes, not someone else's. But the emotions that went with them, the thoughts and actions and reactions, they were all…wrong. Not like that time he'd been possessed, seeing his body do things his mind railed against. But like his brain was altered, dosed with the drugs he'd avoided all his life for exactly this reason. Because he'd hurt others, with fists and words and blades, given his brother up to a kidnapper, then gone after Sam with a freakin' hammer, and there was no feeling from that time besides an ambivalent, amoral hedonism. No _Saving people,_ no _Look after Sam._ Not Dean.

But it _had_ been him. And everyone, from Crowley, to Anne-Marie, to that kid Cole, to Sam, knew it.

He was only half-joking when he asked Cas if Sam wanted a divorce.

Cas said Sam knew it wasn't really him, that they were brothers and Sam wouldn't walk away. But he hadn't seen how nervous Sam had been minutes before, how quickly he'd booked out of there. Dean wasn't quite as confident.

 _We don't see things the same anymore…I can't trust you,_ Sam had said after the Gadreel disaster.

Yeah, Dean's demonic spree was really gonna help with that.

His restless gaze settled on the pile of pictures he'd been flipping through when Cas came in. Him and Mom. Bobby. Him and Sam in better times. Times before he gave his brother over to an angel, and then turned into a demon and almost killed him.

Dean shut his eyes, stomach heaving in hopeless self-disgust.

"Hey."

Sam sounded almost afraid, and that snapped Dean back faster than a splash of water in the face. His eyes opened wide, and he could see the moment Sam recognized they were green, not black, and sagged a little in relief.

"Thought you were asleep," he covered lamely, and came in, paper bag in each hand.

"You'd think, after not sleeping much for…" He didn't even have a clue how long.

"Seven and a half weeks," Sam filled in without hesitation. "You want the exact number of days?"

Dean gave him a side-long look. "Not really."

Sam turned the chair at the desk around and took a seat, opening the first bag. A quick glance, then he tossed it to Dean. "Two burgers, fries, apple pie." And a cup Dean hadn't noticed him holding. "Chocolate shake."

It should've sounded good. His stomach even growled. But his throat felt too tight to choke anything down.

Dean poked around in the bag, aware of Sam pulling out a sandwich of his own and taking a small bite. He seemed about as enthusiastic about the food as Dean felt. Still, he hadn't split as soon as he was finished with his delivery; that was something, right?  
Dean pulled out a cheeseburger, unwrapped it, and took a small bite. Funny how the sulfur aftertaste hadn't bothered him at the time, but now he was acutely aware it was gone.

He kept stealing glances at Sam. Kinda got the impression his brother was doing the same. But he couldn't read his brother's expression beyond _tired,_ and the feeling of defeat deepened.

He begged off after getting half the burger and some fries down. Even the pie couldn't tempt him, and he saw the worry this time in Sam's face as his brother packed up the leftovers. Demons didn't need food like humans did.

"Okay, uh. Guess you should get some sleep. You need anything before…?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "I'm good."

"Right." Sam hesitated. Probably trying to figure out if he should lock Dean into the room or something.

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean said quietly.

Sam flushed but nodded and backed out. He left the door standing open.

Dean sat there a while. Heard Sam go back out to the kitchen to put the leftovers away, then go past to the bathroom. The pipes groaned as the shower went on.

Weary to the core, Dean lay back on his bed. Something crinkled under his head, and he pulled out the slip of paper.

 _SAMMY LET ME GO_

Dean crumpled the note one-handed and tossed it into the corner.

He must've fallen asleep at some point. There were vague impressions of darkness and blood and yelling. A flash of Sam's stark face. Despair. Dean gasped himself awake.

The overhead light was off. The only illumination came from the light in the hallway, Dean saw as he turned his head. And silhouetted in it, slumped in the chair that was usually in his own room down the hall, Sam slept in slack-jawed exhaustion.

Dean exhaled shakily. That was the chair he'd bought after an uncomfortable night's vigil over his injured brother. Sam had even teased him about it being his creepy stalker chair. And Sam had hauled it in here tonight to watch over him. No weapons in hand, utterly defenseless if Dean should wake with a different eye color.

"Y'all right?" Sam suddenly murmured without opening his eyes.

"Peachy," Dean rasped back.

His brother stirred, good hand reaching up to rub heavily at his face. It didn't look like he'd gotten any more sleep over those last _seven-and-a-half-weeks_ than Dean.

"What happened to your shoulder?" Dean surprised himself by asking.

Sam's eyes were a faint glint in the weak light. "Demon. I got sloppy—it was on fire and it grabbed me, wanted to take me with it. Cas played tug-a-war with it—I was the rope. Didn't end well."

Dean raised an expectant eyebrow.

Sam sighed. "Separated shoulder, dislocated elbow, bruised bone."

Dean swore.

"Another two weeks, and I can lose the sling."

There was a beat. "It was on _fire_?"

"It called my bluff," Sam said simply, sounding a little defensive.

He remembered Luther, and stories Crowley had told him about Sam leaving a trail of demon bodies across the country. His own demonic taunts about the lines Sam had crossed to find him. It had vaguely amused him then.

He felt sick now.

"I killed a coupla demons, too," he offered.

"I know." No judgment. No inflection at all, and he wasn't sure he was sorry or glad he couldn't see Sam's face.

"Where's the hammer?" he blurted, because apparently his tongue still wasn't quite under his control.

A pause. "Still in the hall where you dropped it, I guess? Why? You need it?" And damned if the bastard didn't sound amused.

He pushed himself up on an elbow. "I'm not… I'm…" It felt like two months' worth of emotions were washing over him at once. "Sammy, I'm…" His voice wobbled. Crap.

Sam leaned forward then, a long-haired, broad shape between him and the rest of the world. "I know," he said, quiet but firm. "Hey, I get it, _I know_."

Dean struggled silently in the dark.

Long fingers pushed at his shoulder. "We're okay, Dean. We're gonna take some time off like Cas said and figure the rest out, but you and me? We're good, I promise." A beat. "Jerk."

He gave a wet laugh, sinking back to the bed. "Bitch." The response had come automatically once with Crowley, too, but it was because of a habit of a lifetime with this guy next to him.

They both huffed. And then it was quiet again, but easy, like a thousand hours in the car beside to each other.

Sam's breathing eventually smoothed out in sleep. Dean watched him until his own eyes grew heavy.

" _You are my brother, and I'm here to take you home."_

He felt human and he felt home, and he slept.

 **The End**


End file.
